


White Light

by defying3reason



Series: Pavement Cracks 'verse [1]
Category: The Flash (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after coming out to his parents, Hartley Rathaway finds himself homeless, friendless, and penniless. The answer? Supervillainy, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just to warn you, this is an unfinished prequel for my Pavement Cracks ficverse. I do plan on finishing it eventually, but I'm not prioritizing it right now. Initially I wrote it as a character exercise, so it starts a little slow.

**Prologue**

"Huh. Do you ever have class?" Brandon joked as he strode into the dorm room. Hartley ignored him, so he shrugged it off and started rifling through the accumulated filth on his side of the room. "Shit. My Orgo book's gotta be here somewhere."

"I think we've got the same one, so you can have mine if you want," Hartley offered.

"You serious?" Brandon asked. "Don't fuck with me on this. I'm running late, I think I lost it, and it's a hundred dollar book."

Hartley was sitting cross-legged on his bed with a pad of paper making notes. He leaned over to a small bookshelf he'd put at the foot of his bed, located his organic chemistry book, which was still in its plastic wrapping, and tossed it across the room to Brandon. "Have it. Free of charge."

"Seriously? Aw man do I owe you! Oh wait, rich kid, duh. So what, did your parents like, buy you backups or something?"

"No." Hartley returned to his notebook, uninterested in pursuing further conversation from the looks of it. He picked up a mechanical pencil and drew a staff.

"So…then…don't you need this?" Brandon asked.

Hartley set his pencil down and regarded his roommate with a certain measure of bemusement. "My father picked my school, my major, my minor, my concentration, my classes-even my electives, without asking for my input. I have no interest in organic chemistry, or in any of my other classes for that matter, so I don't need the book."

"Ah huh. So what's your brilliant plan? Tank your grades to teach them a lesson?" Brandon didn't look terribly impressed. He also happened to be the eighth child of a lower middle class family that had worked his way to college and was the first in his family to do so. The teens didn't understand anything of each other's worlds, but Brandon had a chip on his shoulder about it. He'd yet to miss an opportunity to point out how 'privileged' Hartley was.

"If I don't do something then I cede control of my life to my father. I'd rather be homeless and impoverished."

"Says the rich white kid. Dude, have you ever even seen a homeless person?"

"Of course. There are plenty on campus." Hartley bristled inwardly, but remained outwardly dispassionate. And Brandon wondered why he pretended not to hear him so often. The boy was bright enough to realize that Hartley's hearing implants 'malfunctioned' at opportune moments, but dense enough to miss what made those moments so opportune.

"Ah. So you do leave the room sometimes then. Well that ain't the street. Y'know, living off of charitable college kid handouts, so don't go pretending that you-"

"Aren't you going to be late for Orgo?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. Hey man, thanks for the book." Brandon rushed out of the room and Hartley followed him to the door, casually navigating the piles of teenage boy debris on the floor to do so. He shut the door and plopped back onto his bed.

"Because the suburbs are so much more ghetto," he muttered condescendingly before slipping on headphones and going back to his scribbles.

He was still scribbling out melody lines an hour and a half later when Brandon got back from class. Brandon rolled his eyes at seeing his roommate in much the same position as when he'd left, but didn't bother saying anything about it.

The two sat in silence for a bit, doing their own things, until the phone rang. Brandon was studying for his French oral. He fully expected Hartley to get it, as the other teen was being unproductive, but Hartley made no move to respond.

"Fucking asshole," Brandon muttered irritably. He strode to the doorway where their dorm phone was stuck to the wall and picked up the receiver. "Yallo?"

"Oh, er, yes. Hello. This is Mr. Hall, I presume?"

"Ya, Brandon Hall. You must be Hartley's dad, huh?"

"Yes. Is he available to talk?"

Brandon snorted. "One sec Mr. R. Yo, Hartley!" he yelled. He could just see Hartley's dad cringing on the other end of the line. The guy sounded like an aristocratic asshole, like he should only exist as a movie caricature or something.

"Hey Hartley!" The kid still didn't so much as shift position. Brandon threw a crumpled McDonald's bag at him, which did get his attention. Hartley yanked his bulky headphones off and looked up with an indignant glare.

"What?!"

"Your dad's on the phone. Hey, don't you have a cell phone or something anyway?" Brandon said with a sudden realization.

"I turned it off."

"You can do that?"

Hartley grabbed the phone, gearing up for an unpleasant conversation. "Yes?"

"Don't take that tone with me," Mr. Rathaway snapped. "I would like to know how it is, exactly, that you got on academic probation before the first semester of freshmen year is even half finished."

"Probation, huh? Sounds serious," Hartley said dully.

"It is. So help me God Hartley, if you flunk out of this school, you are not going to like coming home to this house-"

"Uh huh."

"I mean it, Hartley!"

"Yeah, well, mayhaps you should let me take a music class at my next school."

"What makes you think there's going to be a next school?!" Mr. Rathaway exploded.

"Because you don't want to tell your friends that your only son is a college drop-out?"

"You are not becoming a musician! You have no talent!"

Hartley jerked back from the receiver as though the phone had somehow struck him. Part of the reason he played so poorly was nerves. Every time he sat down with an instrument, no matter the instrument, he waited for a storm of criticism and the anxiety made him fumble.

"Bye, sir."

"Don't you dare hang up on-"

Hartley plodded back to his bed and collapsed face first into his pillow. Brandon watched him with a condescending smirk.

"You call your dad sir?"

* * *

Brandon's alarm went off at six thirty in the morning, waking both roommates but only one hobbled around the bed, stumbling into furniture and swearing viciously as he gathered clothes and headed towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. Hartley rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head. He'd only gone to sleep a couple hours ago, having spent the night listening to Nina Simone's Wild is the Wind enough times to write down the music to it.

He woke again when Brandon finished his shower and had to gather together books and notebooks for the day. Brandon left the room noisily, slamming the door behind him as a final flourish.

Hartley curled up on his side and hugged his pillow to his chest. He felt like spending the rest of his life in bed, avoiding people. He'd barely left the dorm room since orientation, which was probably at least partly responsible for his lethargic depression.

'I suppose I could go to class today.' He pondered the thought a moment longer, dismissed it as his teachers wouldn't recognize him anyway, so it would be completely pointless, and went back to bed.

When he did wake up again sometime in the afternoon he decided on grooming himself properly and venturing outside. After that last fight with his dad, it was probably a good idea to hit up the record store before his funds were cut off again in a pathetic attempt at persuasive discipline. Unfortunately for the Rathaways, their son had long since figured out that they'd get bored with parenting and just throw him money again to shut him up if he waited them out, and he was much more patient than they were.

Hartley showered, dressed in real clothes as opposed to sweats or pajamas, found his sneakers after a few minutes of searching under his bed, pulled his hair into a ponytail, and left the dorm building for the outside world.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley introduces his boyfriend to his parents and comes out. In that order.
> 
> The Rathaways are not pleased.

**Chapter One**

"This seems like a shit idea Hartley," Aaron muttered.

"Stupid but fun," Hartley said dismissively.

"I don't wanna be there when you come out to your parents!" Aaron whined. "I didn't even wanna be there when I came out to my own parents."

"Yeah, well you wanted to see what a servants-rich house looks like, and to do that you have to come home with me. My parents are going to be there, and I'm not going to pretend we're not dating."

"How can you be so damn confident?" Aaron asked, an awkward half-smile on his face. "You should be tweaking out, not me."

Hartley shrugged. "My parents don't have that much power over me anymore. Besides…"

"You like pissing them off," Aaron pointed out. Hartley smiled sweetly at him, all mock innocence.

"It's fun. Father gets quite theatric sometimes."

"As long as you know what you're doing." Aaron let out a disgruntled sigh and leaned on the window. Hartley scooted closer to him on the stiff imitation-leather seat, nuzzling his face against his shoulder and twining their fingers together. Reluctantly, Aaron smiled and kissed the top of his boyfriend's head.

"So you've really never visited anyone with servants before?" Hartley asked, tone colored with sincere disbelief. Aaron laughed.

"In my neighborhood we thought the house with two floors was a mansion. I thought servants were just plot devices for murder mysteries until I was ten."

"I used to think something similar about grandmothers and sitcoms," Hartley murmured sleepily.

"You didn't have a cuddly grammy to make up for your asshole parents? That sucks."

"Yep."

"S'okay. After we visit your folks we can have them fly us down to Florida and you can borrow my grammy for a bit. She's been wanting to meet you anyway," Aaron said dismissively.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. She's thrilled I'm dating a music kid. She's gonna ask you to play some Glen Miller and Rosemary Clooney and stuff."

"Aaron, I suck at playing music-I just like to listen."

Aaron wrapped an arm around Hartley and pulled him closer. "You only suck when you notice anyone's listening."

"So for practicality's sake, I suck."

Aaron rolled his eyes. He'd developed a taste for 'napping' in a seldom used commuter lounge on campus that happened to house a piano, and had found out first hand just how good Hartley could be when he wasn't expecting criticism.

Hartley napped for most of the train ride after that, and Aaron enjoyed the warmth at his side. In many ways the idealistic, sheltered rich kid was more of a pain in the ass, or almost too much of a pain in the ass to be worth the effort, but he had good qualities too. For the moment Aaron was pleased to feel warm, steady breath on his neck and soft auburn hair on his chin. He watched the sky darken and rain collect on the thick plastic window until the train ground to a stop, bringing Hartley to sudden wakefulness.

He clamped his hands over his ears and cringed, and almost fell off the seat. Aaron caught him, steadying him.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Next time we ride a train together and I nod off, please wake me up before we stop," Hartley ground out through gritted teeth. "My ears are still ringing."

"Oh, right, sorry. I didn't even think of it."

"It's alright. I can hear our driver outside, come on. He wants to leave without us."

Aaron shook his head, amused, while Hartley hefted his backpack over his shoulders and retrieved a duffle bag from the rack above them. "I can't believe the shit you can hear sometimes."

"Well if I hadn't heard you talking about the cute red head from across the green we wouldn't be here now."

"Hey, I asked _you_ out," Aaron reminded him, grabbing his own luggage and following Hartley to the door.

"Yes, but I chose to wait on that bench while you psyched yourself up talking to your friends," he answered. "You took twenty minutes. I'd almost decided you weren't hot enough to wait for when you finally made up your mind."

"Should've listened to my instincts about your attitude problem."

Hartley leaned backwards suddenly, whacking him with an over-stuffed backpack and knocking Aaron into one of the seats framing the walkway.

"Behave."

"I'm good. I'll be good."

"Okay then."

* * *

At best, Aaron was hoping Hartley's plan would backfire and his parents would be overjoyed their son had hooked up with an attractive, intelligent geology major. At worst he was expecting his mother to cry and wail about not having grandchildren and his dad to yell and cuss.

When Hartley was literally thrown outside, Aaron was surprised. He watched the skinny eighteen-year-old land painfully on the tiled porch floor, his father having shoved him so suddenly he'd lost balance. Aaron darted after Hartley to help him up, at which point their stuff was thrown on the porch, the door was slammed and the lock clicked shut.

Hartley was dumbstruck, a rarity for him. "Th-they threw me out?"

"Looks that way," Aaron said, equally dazed.

Hartley dove for the door, which obviously didn't open for him, and started banging on it. "Hey! Hey! You can't do this! Come on, let me in! I'm your son!"

Mr. Rathaway opened the door, but he didn't step aside. His features were set in the really quiet kind of fury you had to worry about-like Aaron's buddy Mike from the GSA had told him about. When Mike had come out, his stepdad had been calm like that for a few minutes before he'd started throwing things and tearing the house apart. Mike hadn't spoken to his family since.

"Hartley," Mr. Rathaway said coldly. "You've pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and your mother and I can only take so much. You've not only failed every expectation we ever had for you, you've mocked our attempts to shape your life and by extension our love for you. I can't do this anymore, and neither can Rachel. Clearly we're not meant for the burden of child rearing."

"Are…are you saying you wish you'd never had me?" Hartley asked in a small voice. Mr. Rathaway regarded him mournfully.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. This is it. Unless you change, you're dead to me."

"What about Jerrie?!" he asked. "Are you giving up parenting all together, or just me?"

"Just you. We might be able to salvage something with your sister. You're not welcome here anymore, Hartley. You'll just upset your mother and poison Jerrie's mind. She's already delicate." Then he slammed the door again.

"But…but…" Hartley's shoulders sagged. Aaron watched him apprehensively, not sure what to do. And in his anxiety he said entirely the wrong thing.

"Well, you certainly got your reaction."

Hartley rounded on him. "How can you say that?! What makes you think I would want my parents to wish they'd never had me?!" he yelled.

"What did you expect? Your dad's probably right about you pushing him to this. We could have pretended we were friends-you didn't have to tell them you're gay."

"Why should I have to hide that from them? They're supposed to love me but they never have, they just love what they wanted me to be! Well you got stuck with me!" He'd turned to face the locked door, angry tears streaming down his face. "I'm here, damn you! You're not taking back my existence!"

Aaron looked at his watch. "I think there are a couple trains back to school still running. C'mon, we'll have to book it to get back to the station in time."

"I'm not going back to school. They have to let me back in. The dorms are all closed for summer. If they don't, I'm homeless."

"Homeless?" Aaron repeated. 'Oh man, the drama queen so isn't worth it if he's homeless'.

Hartley wiped at his face, trembling slightly with emotion. "If I need to, do you think your roommate would let me crash on your couch for a bit?"

"Well I dunno, I mean Drew and I have this rule about bringing people home-"

"I've slept over your place at least a dozen times." Hartley's voice went cold, and suddenly he bore a bit more resemblance to his father.

"Yeah, it's a recent thing. I guess Drew wasn't cool with, I mean, I'll still ask, it's just-" Aaron fumbled, while Hartley started crying harder. "Don't you have, like, savings to tap into?"

"If they threw me out of their house then they probably aren't planning to buy me an apartment! My parents are my finances!"

"Well you should have treated them better."

"I'm not going to apologize for being gay! You're my boyfriend, why are you saying these things?"

'Fucking drama queen.'

"I don't know, Hart. I'm going to the train station. You keep fighting with the locked door if you want."

* * *

Hartley really and truly believed that even if his father didn't come around and let him back in, his mother would argue on his behalf until the door finally opened. Then he would let them know that Aaron had gone back to the campus, and that if they never wanted to see him again that was fine, but that Hartley wouldn't dump him.

As the hours dragged on and his rear got more and more sore sitting on the porch steps, he started to regret yelling at Aaron. He was really only mad at Aaron for being right, after all.

What no one seemed to get was that he didn't actually enjoy pissing off his parents. That was a defense mechanism, finding humor in something that hurt him. This endeavor was the latest in a series of attention grabbing displays crafted to give the Rathaways an opportunity to prove that they loved their son, no matter the circumstance.

Alone, achy and still crying softly to himself, he didn't feel terribly loved.

* * *

The deadbolt on the door rendered Hartley's house keys useless, but his car keys still had value, thank god. He waited until eleven o'clock, when he finally had to admit to himself that his parents meant business and he would need to find shelter, so he put his backpack and duffle in the back seat of his car and spent the next few hours driving back to school.

He buzzed Aaron's apartment and waited in the entryway, ready to apologize and hoping for sympathetic cuddles. It seemed pretty ominous when Drew let him in, looking confused and sleepy.

"Hey Hartley. I thought Aaron was crashing with you for a bit…?"

"I got thrown out. I was hoping I could sleep on your couch. I mean, just until I find something permanent."

"Oh yeah, no worries. Just, uh, Aaron's not here. If he's not with you…"

Hartley's stomach churned anxiously. "Oh god. He might be stuck at the Central City train station."

"Ooo, sketch." Drew seemed to wake up a bit at that suggestion. "Isn't that one of those cities with super criminals?"

"Yeah. I mean, only a few. There's a mirror guy and a cold guy and, um, Mr. Element, I think?"

"Well it's no Gotham, but let's not leave your boyfriend on a bench in a place with costumed weirdos. I'll cover gas if you drive." Drew toed on his shoes and grabbed a sweatshirt, then the two were out the door.

 

**Chapter One**

"This seems like a shit idea Hartley." Aaron muttered.

"Stupid but fun." Hartley said dismissively.

"I don't wanna be there when you come out to your parents!" Aaron whined. "I didn't even wanna be there when I came out to my own parents."

"Yeah, well you wanted to see what a servants-rich house looks like, and to do that you have to come home with me. My parents are going to be there, and I'm not going to pretend we're not dating."

"How can you be so damn confident?" Aaron asked, an awkward half-smile on his face. "You should be tweaking out, not me."

Hartley shrugged. "My parents don't have that much power over me anymore. Besides…"

"You like pissing them off." Aaron pointed out. Hartley smiled sweetly at him, all mock innocence.

"It's fun. Father gets quite theatric sometimes."

"As long as you know what you're doing." Aaron let out a disgruntled sigh and leaned on the window. Hartley scooted closer to him on the stiff imitation-leather seat, nuzzling his face against his shoulder and twining their fingers together. Reluctantly, Aaron smiled and kissed the top of his boyfriend's head.

"So you've really never visited anyone with servants before?" Hartley asked, tone colored with sincere disbelief. Aaron laughed.

"In my neighborhood we thought the house with two floors was a mansion. I thought servants were just plot devices for murder mysteries until I was ten."

"I used to think something similar about grandmothers and sitcoms." Hartley murmured sleepily.

"You didn't have a cuddly grammy to make up for your asshole parents? That sucks."

"Yep."

"S'okay. After we visit your folks we can have them fly us down to Florida and you can borrow my grammy for a bit. She's been wanting to meet you anyway." Aaron said dismissively.

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. She's thrilled I'm dating a music kid. She's gonna ask you to play some Glen Miller and Rosemary Clooney and stuff."

"Aaron, I suck at playing music-I just like to listen."

Aaron wrapped an arm around Hartley and pulled him closer. "You only suck when you notice anyone's listening."

"So for practicality's sake, I suck."

Aaron rolled his eyes. He'd developed a taste for 'napping' in a seldom used commuter lounge on campus that happened to house a piano, and had found out first hand just how good Hartley could be when he wasn't expecting criticism.

Hartley napped for most of the train ride after that, and Aaron enjoyed the warmth at his side. In many ways the idealistic, sheltered rich kid was more of a pain in the ass, or almost too much of a pain in the ass to be worth the effort, but he had good qualities too. For the moment Aaron was pleased to feel warm, steady breath on his neck and soft auburn hair on his chin. He watched the sky darken and rain collect on the thick plastic window until the train ground to a stop, bringing Hartley to sudden wakefulness.

He clamped his hands over his ears and cringed, and almost fell off the seat. Aaron caught him, steadying him.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Next time we ride a train together and I nod off, please wake me up before we stop." Hartley ground out through gritted teeth. "My ears are still ringing."

"Oh, right, sorry. I didn't even think of it."

"It's alright. I can hear our driver outside, come on. He wants to leave without us."

Aaron shook his head, amused, while Hartley hefted his backpack over his shoulders and retrieved a duffle bag from the rack above them. "I can't believe the shit you can hear sometimes."

"Well if I hadn't heard you talking about the cute red head from across the green we wouldn't be here now."

"Hey, I asked _you_ out." Aaron reminded him, grabbing his own luggage and following Hartley to the door.

"Yes, but I chose to wait on that bench while you psyched yourself up talking to your friends." He answered. "You took twenty minutes. I'd almost decided you weren't hot enough to wait for when you finally made up your mind."

"Should've listened to my instincts about your attitude problem."

Hartley leaned backwards suddenly, whacking him with an over-stuffed backpack and knocking Aaron into one of the seats framing the walkway.

"Behave."

"I'm good. I'll be good."

"Okay then."

* * *

At best, Aaron was hoping Hartley's plan would backfire and his parents would be overjoyed their son had hooked up with an attractive, intelligent geology major. At worst he was expecting his mother to cry and wail about not having grandchildren and his dad to yell and cuss.

When Hartley was literally thrown outside, Aaron was surprised. He watched the skinny eighteen year old land painfully on the tiled porch floor, his father having shoved him so suddenly he'd lost balance. Aaron darted after Hartley to help him up, at which point their stuff was thrown on the porch, the door was slammed and the lock clicked shut.

Hartley was dumbstruck, a rarity for him. "Th-they threw me out?"

"Looks that way." Aaron said, equally dazed.

Hartley dove for the door, which obviously didn't open for him, and started banging on it. "Hey! Hey! You can't do this! Come on, let me in! I'm your son!"

Mr. Rathaway opened the door, but he didn't step aside. His features were set in the really quiet kind of fury you had to worry about-like Aaron's buddy Mike from the GSA had told him about. When Mike had come out, his stepdad had been calm like that for a few minutes before he'd started throwing things and tearing the house apart. Mike hadn't spoken to his family since.

"Hartley." Mr. Rathaway said coldly. "You've pushed, and pushed and pushed and your mother and I can only take so much. You've not only failed every expectation we ever had for you, you've mocked our attempts to shape your life and by extension our love for you. I can't do this anymore, and neither can Rachel. Clearly we're not meant for the burden of child rearing."

"Are…are you saying you wish you'd never had me?" Hartley asked in a small voice. Mr. Rathaway regarded him mournfully.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. This is it. Unless you change, you're dead to me."

"What about Jerrie?!" He asked. "Are you giving up parenting all together, or just me?"

"Just you. We might be able to salvage something with your sister. You're not welcome here anymore Hartley. You'll just upset your mother and poison Jerrie's mind. She's already delicate." Then he slammed the door again.

"But…but…" Hartley's shoulders sagged. Aaron watched him apprehensively, not sure what to do. And in his anxiety he said entirely the wrong thing.

"Well you certainly got your reaction."

Hartley rounded on him. "How can you say that?! What makes you think I would want my parents to wish they'd never had me?!" He yelled.

"Well what did you expect? Your dad's probably right about you pushing him to this. We could have pretended we were friends-you didn't have to tell them you're gay."

"Why should I have to hide that from them? They're supposed to love me but they never have, they just love what they wanted me to be! Well you got stuck with me!" He'd turned to face the locked door, angry tears streaming down his face. "I'm here damn you! You're not taking back my existence!"

Aaron looked at his watch. "I think there are a couple trains back to school still running. C'mon, we'll have to book it to get back to the station in time."

"I'm not going back to school. They have to let me back in. The dorms are all closed for summer. If they don't I'm homeless."

"Homeless?" Aaron repeated. 'Oh man, the drama queen so isn't worth it if he's homeless'.

Hartley wiped at his face, trembling slightly with emotion. "If I need to, do you think your roommate would let me crash on your couch for a bit?"

"Well I dunno, I mean Drew and I have this rule about bringing people home-"

"I've slept over your place at least a dozen times." Hartley's voice went cold, and suddenly he bore a bit more resemblance to his father.

"Yeah, it's a recent thing. I guess Drew wasn't cool with, I mean, I'll still ask, it's just-" Aaron fumbled, while Hartley started crying harder. "Don't you have, like, savings to tap into?"

"If they threw me out of their house then they probably aren't planning to buy me an apartment! My parents are my finances!"

"Well you should have treated them better."

"I'm not going to apologize for being gay! You're my boyfriend, why are you saying these things?"

'Fucking drama queen.'

"I don't know Hart. I'm going to the train station. You keep fighting with the locked door if you want."

* * *

Hartley really and truly believed that even if his father didn't come around and let him back in, his mother would argue on his behalf until the door finally opened. Then he would let them know that Aaron had gone back to the campus, and that if they never wanted to see him again that was fine, but that he wouldn't dump him.

As the hours dragged on and his rear got more and more sore sitting on the porch steps, he started to regret yelling at Aaron. He was really only mad at Aaron for being right, after all.

What no one seemed to get was that he didn't actually enjoy pissing off his parents. That was a defense mechanism, finding humor in something that hurt him. This endeavor was the latest in a series of attention grabbing displays crafted to give the Rathaways an opportunity to prove that they loved their son, no matter the circumstance.

Alone, achy and still crying softly to himself, he didn't feel terribly loved.

* * *

The deadbolt on the door rendered Hartley's house keys useless, but his car keys still had value, thank God. He waited until eleven o'clock, when he finally had to admit to himself that his parents meant business and he would need to find shelter, so he put his backpack and duffle in the back seat of his car and spent the next few hours driving back to school.

He buzzed Aaron's apartment and waited in the entryway, ready to apologize and hoping for sympathetic cuddles. It seemed pretty ominous when Drew let him in, looking confused and sleepy.

"Hey Hartley. I thought Aaron was crashing with you for a bit…?"

"I got thrown out. I was hoping I could sleep on your couch. I mean, just until I find something permanent."

"Oh yeah, no worries. Just, uh, Aaron's not here. If he's not with you…"

Hartley's stomach churned anxiously. "Oh God. He might be stuck at the Central City train station."

"Ooo, sketch." Drew seemed to wake up a bit at that suggestion. "Isn't that one of those cities with super criminals?"

"Yeah. I mean, only a few. There's a mirror guy and a cold guy and, um, Mr. Element, I think?"

"Well it's no Gotham but let's not leave your boyfriend on a bench in a place with costumed weirdos. I'll cover gas if you drive." Drew toed on his shoes and grabbed a sweatshirt, then the two were out the door.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And all support is lost.

**Chapter Two**

They didn't find Aaron at the train station or the bus station. Hartley cursed under his breath and vehemently wished more people had cell phones. Of course, since he wasn't rich anymore he probably wouldn't have one for much longer, but still.

After over an hour of searching Drew decided they'd be better off heading to the apartment to see if Aaron had turned up, or at the least to check the answering machine.

So this time Drew drove with Hartley curled up in his backseat, exhausted but unable to sleep for worry. Drew must have noticed in the rearview mirror. "Don't worry, dude. I'm sure he's fine."

"If he isn't it's my fault. I pulled that stupid stunt and then I yelled at him and then I left him alone."

"Hartley, dude, I'm sure he's fine. And when we get back you guys can have some nice, fluffy reunion time and then I'll see if we can add you to the lease. I'm kinda excited, actually. With you pitching in on the rent I'll have more spare cash."

"It would be nice to live with Aaron," Hartley murmured. "Maybe there is some good in being kicked out."

"We'll help you adjust to working class life. Teach you all the secrets," Drew said cheerfully. "You'd be surprised how much mileage you can get out of a bag of frozen bagels and a case of ramen."

Most of the return journey was spent with Drew chatting good naturedly about budgeting tricks. Hartley listened, glad for the distraction, and nodded off occasionally with thoughts of a pleasant future living with Drew and Aaron. He'd never spent much time with Drew before, but he'd been very friendly on the road trip, kind of like a nurturing den mother type.

Huh. That didn't fit with Aaron's earlier reluctance to let Hartley sleep on the couch.

Hartley drifted off again, and before too much longer Drew was nudging him awake. "Hey dude, we're here. Take your keys."

"Huh? Oh, thanks."

They jogged up to the apartment, Drew over to the phone to check for messages while Hartley eyed the living room warily. There were some unfamiliar articles of clothing strewn over the couch. He was pretty sure they hadn't been there before.

Hartley pushed Aaron's bedroom door open, hoping he wasn't about to find what the contents of the living room made him expect. Sure enough, Aaron was asleep, naked and curled around a stranger. Wait a minute…not a total stranger…one of the queens from the GSA drag show.

Hartley vaguely noticed his finger nails were biting sharply into his palms. He eyed the two as his vision was slowly obscured by tears, then he bolted for the living room and the door.

"No messages…hey Hartley, are you okay?" Drew asked. Hartley ignored him in favor of retreating for his car. It was that, or go back to the bedroom and beat Aaron to within an inch of his life, which wasn't a good plan. Aaron was in school through athletic scholarships; he'd win.

"Breathe, Hartley, just breathe…oh hell." No job. No house. His parents had cut him off, and now his boyfriend had decided to complete the shitty cycle by cheating on him.

"Oh holy fuck. I'm living in my car," he realized. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck!"

He picked up the sound of a muffled conversation and some indications of nearby movement. When the words registered, Hartley moved slowly to lock the car doors. He wasn't interested in talking any of this over.

"Dude! You're being a prick!"

"Fuck you, Drew, it's none of your business!"

"You need to talk to him, you asshole! We were up all night looking for your stupid ass-he thought you were in trouble!"

"Leave it alone dude."

Drew banged on the car window. "Hartley, come on, we should talk about this!"

Hartley rolled down the window a crack. "Go away. I'm not talking," he somehow managed to croak out around a constricted throat.

"See?" Aaron said triumphantly.

"You're a douchebag and I don't want to live with you anymore! What kind of asshole cheats on his significant other the night he gets thrown out?" Drew yelled. Hartley cringed.

"What, you think this was the first time or something?" Aaron asked with a laugh. He looked right at Hartley. "I've been sleeping around the entire time we've been dating. You're a high maintenance little bitch and when you drive me insane, I-I just…you suck, Hartley. This was you, not me!"

Hartley's anger shifted to raw hurt. He rolled the window back up with some difficulty since his hand was shaking and then curled into a fetal position in the driver's seat.

He looked up again when he heard a smack and a thud. Aaron was on the ground clutching his face. Drew stood over him, hands balled into fists.

"Dude!" Aaron yelled. "You fucking _hit_ me! This is none of your business!"

"You deserved that," Drew snapped.

"Well we've got a lease so you'd damn well better ease up," Aaron returned. He picked himself up off the driveway and stalked off for the apartment. Drew gently tapped on the window.

"Hartley? You okay?"

He wiped at his face and rolled the window down a little. "I'm okay, Drew. Look, we're not really friends. You don't have to screw up your relationship with your roommate over this."

Drew shook his head. "I'm sorry dude. I, I knew Aaron wasn't really into you. I shoulda told you. He kept going on about your money, like that was the best part of dating you, like he'd scored big or something. I just, like-"

"He's your roommate and I'm a stranger. It was normal," Hartley said dully. "It's okay. You don't have to worry about me."

"Well I will anyway. Hit me up sometime if you need to talk, okay?"

"Alright."

Drew went back inside. Hartley curled back into his fetal position and tried to steady his breathing, but he could hear what Aaron was saying in the apartment (he was used to filtering for his boyfriend's voice). He was making plans, apologizing for the drama, and the drag queen was insulting Hartley for being a clingy, stringy haired bitch.

"Right…" Hartley started the car and drove, even though he could barely see and his attention was more on the fading sounds from Aaron's bedroom than the road. Miraculously he managed to get himself out of range of the apartment in one piece.

* * *

He ended up heading back towards his parents' house, hoping that in a day or two his father's anger would subside enough for them to talk things out. He'd certainly had some rude awakenings, which had made him appreciate the security of his parents' protection. He'd compromise.

He didn't want to be alone.

He spent a couple nights sleeping in his car, but before he worked the nerve up to try talking to his father again he was pulled over by a police officer.

"License and registration?"

"Uh, one sec." He fumbled around for the documents. "I wasn't speeding or anything officer…why did you pull me over?"

"License and registration _please_."

"Kay…"

The police officer called in the information out of ear shot of the car, or so it would seem to a normal person, but Hartley was able to listen in.

"Yeah, so this is the car, huh? You kidding? What kinda dirtbag has his own kid arrested? …Geeze Rosiers, it looks like he's living in the damn thing…yeah, I know I don't need to like it, I'll bring him in…did I say I wasn't gonna?"

Hartley groaned, banging his head against the steering wheel.

* * *

Rachel Rathaway eventually talked her husband into dropping the charges, but he still wouldn't let Hartley come home, and he did take the car with him. Hartley saw them leaving the police station after he was released, and he ran over to try to plead his case again.

"Mom, Dad, wait!"

"Keep walking Rachel." Osgood practically yanked her arm to get her to keep moving.

"Come on, at least talk to me! I'm sorry, okay?"

"It's too late, Hartley. I meant what I said. Don't try to contact us."

"But I…I don't have anywhere to go."

"Well you should have thought of that," Osgood sneered.

Hartley watched them drive off, numb.

"One sec, Joe," a gruff looking police officer said to his partner before grabbing Hartley's arm. "Hey kid, sorry, but I heard all that. Name's Chyre. If you really don't have anyplace to go, there's a shelter nearby, but…I wouldn't go there if I had another choice, you get me?"

Hartley nodded. "I really don't have another choice." He didn't even have the nominal protection of his vehicle anymore.

"Alright then. I'll give you a lift."


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley experiences firsthand just how much help the homeless shelter in Central City needs. He also meets the Flash.

**Chapter Three**

Hartley felt his tooth chipping against the fist of the burly young Hispanic man who'd dragged him into the alley behind the homeless shelter. As a sheltered rich white kid, he'd never had all that many interactions with racial minorities. As a matter of fact, this was one of his first. He kind of wanted to tell the Hispanic guy and his two associates, who were each holding one of Hartley's arms, that they were conforming themselves to all of the nasty stereotypes he'd tried to talk his mother out of.

Mostly he was just terrified though. There was a chance he was going to die. They'd already taken his money, and for some reason his shoes, and yet they were still beating him.

"That's enough guys, let him go," a scruffy looking white guy barked. He was standing at the end of the alley with his arms folded over his broad chest.

"Fuck off, Povich. This kid's ours," the one who'd been punching him, the leader apparently, snapped.

"You got his stuff; you should just let him go," Povich grumbled. Hartley's hope of rescue fled with the man's fading footfalls. He tried to gurgle out a plea, but he couldn't talk around the blood in his mouth.

Then the red blur came. That's how Hartley registered it anyway. The men who'd been holding him were lifted off their feet and subdued, and he fell backwards against the alley wall. When he looked up the third one had been taken out too. A man in a shiny red suit stood in front of him, smiling broadly.

Hartley let out a little shriek and crawled backwards with an arm thrown protectively over his face.

"Hey, don't worry kiddo. I'm not going to hurt you." The costumed stranger looked startled by his reaction.

"Who are you?" Hartley asked fearfully.

"I'm the Flash. I help people," he said proudly. "Are you alright? Do you need to go to a hospital?"

"I, I don't know." Hartley wiped at his mouth, smearing blood on his sleeve. "I don't know if you can help me."

"Well I'll give it a shot," The Flash offered.

Deciding his life was completely in the gutter anyway, and that the Flash probably wasn't creative enough to make it worse, he opened up.

"I…I'm homeless. I have nowhere to go. My parents kicked me out and they won't talk to me and I have no m-money, and I…I…those guys, they tried to kill me! Please, I'm scared and I don't know what to do."

"Oh, well that's easy enough." The Flash had looked a little nervous, mumbling something about how that wasn't really superhero stuff, but his confident smile returned mid-hysterical tirade. "You're right next to a homeless shelter! I'm sure they'll help you out until you work out this mess with your parents."

"But I already-" Before Hartley could finish, the Flash was gone. "…tried that."

"Well, that guy's a piece of work. Bet you the Metropolis weirdo in tights would'a at least listened to you." Povich was back, large and smirking in his tight jeans and battered leather coat. Hartley stared at him, dumbfounded and fearful. The thugs were knocked out, but Povich could easily still hurt him.

He seemed to pick up on Hartley's line of thinking.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you dude. What's your name?"

"H-hartley."

"Hartley? That's a weird one. I'm Earl Povich." He slipped off his coat, draped it over Hartley's shaking shoulders and slid his hair over the collar. Hartley's face reddened. He looked at his shaking hands. "Look, I was going to find some guys to help me deal with those assholes, but then that red guy showed up and I figured I didn't need to. I wasn't gonna just leave you."

"Why?" Hartley asked. He couldn't wrap his mind around a stranger helping him. His parents had thrown him out-his father got him arrested for stealing his own car, and his boyfriend had left him, broken his heart. He couldn't wrap his mind around all that and a perfect stranger helping him.

"I dunno. You're kinda cute. Y'know, around the bloody lip," Earl said with a smirk.

"And you're going out of your way because of that?"

"Well sure. Cute naïve redheads don't wander into the shelter every night. Seemed like a good enough reason to me." Earl pushed some of Hartley's hair out of his face in an awkward caress, shrugged, and then walked over to the unconscious thugs. He started rifling through the pockets of one of the arm holders.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Hartley asked. He shakily gained his feet, clutching the coat where it threatened to slide off his shoulder. Earl regarded him with amusement.

"Come on rich kid, you thought these guys were gonna murder you. You really care if a bum like me steals from them while they're out cold?"

"Well…"

"This wallet's yours, right?" He tossed a leather wallet with music notes scribbled on it in white-out pen at Hartley's feet.

"Yes. But it's only got some bad credit cards and three dollars in it."

"So how come you're not rich anymore?"

"How could you tell I'm rich?"

"Your shoes." Earl picked them up and looked at them. They'd fallen somewhere next to the leader-thug.

"My shoes? They're just sneakers."

"They go for about two hundred bucks."

"…really? People pay that much for shoes?" Hartley asked, puzzled. Earl quirked an eyebrow.

"Did your mom buy all your clothes or something?"

"Mostly. I, I never really cared about that stuff that much," Hartley admitted.

"Well I know some dumb suburban kids who'll pay at least half price for your kicks, maybe a little less. Even with the cost of new shoes, we'd still get at least a couple days worth of meals if you wanna split it with me."

"I'm fucking starving. You can sell anything I have if you feed me." Hartley upended his backpack. Earl's eyes widened when he saw the portable CD player, CD case, clothes, notebooks, cassettes and a particularly fancy looking wristwatch.

"You should…put that all back in the bag. We can sleep in my truck tonight and I'll fence all that shit tomorrow morning." He helped Hartley pack it all back up and waited while he put his sneakers back on. "How's your lip feeling?"

"Kind of numb, but throbby too."

"Yeah, it'll sting like a bitch later, m'guessing."

"Earl…you're not going to, like, kill or rape me or anything, are you?"

"Nah, that'd be counterproductive. I'm trying to stay out of jail."

"Okay. Figured I'd at least ask."

"Besides, if I was gonna it would be in the opposite order. I'm not into necro shit."

"Good to know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some heat for my portrayals of Barry Allen in the past, so I just want to state what I was going for when I wrote this bit. This is one of Barry's first trips out as a superhero, not too long after acquiring his powers. He's an excited puppy, and he's looking for supervillains to battle with and cool adventures to have. Piper's problems, more mundane and not easily solved with a spandex covered fist, are not what he expected and not what he's prepared to deal with. When he remembers the homeless shelter, he figures he's done his duty and it's time to take off. I don't see him as heartless here, just inexperienced.
> 
> And Barry's insensitivity gives Piper some motivation to make the Flash his arch-nemesis once he dons his own costume.


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley and Earl get to know each other.

**Chapter Four**

"So you live in your truck?" Hartley asked.

Earl's truck was a rusty old thing that looked an inch from death, but he had a hood over the bed, and there was a mattress in the back that smelled something awful. Still, it wasn't the homeless shelter.

"Yep. It's not ideal, but I haven't been in Central all that long and finding work's been harder than I expected." Earl slid into the driver's seat so Hartley got in the passenger side. He hugged his bag to his chest and took a few deep breaths, trying not to cry. The stinging had started and he still wasn't entirely sure he wasn't going to be murdered or raped.

"So Hartley, you didn't answer my question. How come you're not rich anymore?" Earl started the truck and pulled out into traffic, sneaking occasional glances at his companion. Hartley frowned.

"My parents kicked me out."

"Oh. You look a little old to be living at home, no offense. My dad expected us all to empty out of the nest when we hit sixteen."

"I was in college. I've never worked a day in my life. I, this is going to sound really pathetic. I don't know how to take care of myself really," Hartley explained. Earl laughed.

"Well that's obvious. So you musta been like crazy rich then. Did you, like, even have servants to do all your chores and shit?"

"Yep. You ever heard of Rathaway publishing house?" Hartley asked.

"Uh…I don't really do much reading."

"Well if you did, you would. My parents own the company and they wanted me to take over, and marry some bland rich girl and make lots of babies who would be future CEOs and whatnot." He scowled. "They didn't let me make any substantial decisions about my life, so I fought them on it and…well, introducing them to Aaron was the last straw. Now I'm completely cut off."

"And they don't care that their little baby is out getting mugged behind homeless shelters?"

"Dad had me arrested for stealing my own car. He'd kept it in his name so he could do that. If he didn't care about taking away the car I'd been living in, I don't think he'd care about me being mugged."

"That's cold. So who's Aaron?"

"Um…he was my boyfriend."

"Was?" Earl turned to look at Hartley for a dangerous amount of time considering he was driving. "So you're queer?"

"That's kind of why I was kicked out. Um, you said I was…aren't you or were you just…? I'm confused."

Earl laughed, pulled the truck over and smiled at Hartley, who leaned ever so slightly closer to the door. "No shit, that's why I'm homeless too. Small world. I'm from Pittsburgh, originally. I been kinda wandering around since I got kicked out. My old man caught me making out with one of his friends after his poker night, and he fucking flipped. Chased me outta the house throwing beer bottles at my head."

"Oh. My dad just yelled a lot. Well, he did actually physically throw me from the house, but he didn't really try to hurt me. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, me and Dad were always getting into fights. The Povich temper," Earl said fondly. "Small world though. I meant what I said about you being a cute redhead, I just backed down because I thought I was freaking you out."

"You are kind of freaking me out."

"Sorry. I'm not trying to. I think we can really help each other out though, don't you? I mean you've got this clean and cultured thing that'll work out a lot better looking for work. And I'm a little better with the whole living on the streets thing than you are, so I can protect you. Course if you're scared of me then you're not gonna trust me. I can drop you off somewhere if you'd rather, I was just thinking…"

"I…I trust you. Maybe it's my lack of survival instinct," Hartley joked. Earl didn't seem to get it, but he laughed anyway.

"Cool. Well Hartley, I'm driving us to a parking lot where they don't call the cops on you if you park overnight. Spots like that are good to know. There's a donut place down the street from there with this real nice old lady working there. They're supposed to throw out all the old donuts, but she sneaks 'em out under her coat and gives them to us anyway. Says it's wasteful."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so we can get breakfast at the donut place and then sell your shit and go from there."

"Um…do you have anything to eat now?" Hartley asked hopefully. It'd been well over a day since his last meal, and all his liquids had come from cupping his hands over bathroom faucets.

"I can make a detour before the parking lot." Earl stopped at the next twenty four hour convenience store they passed. He told Hartley to wait in the truck, took his coat back and walked inside. He returned a few minutes later, started the car and once they were a little ways away from the convenience store started handing Hartley snacks from his coat pockets.

He tore into the first bag of chips like he'd never see food again. "Did you steal this?" he asked, only hesitating a second before opening a second bag.

"Yep. It's a bitch at some of these places, but that one has its cameras placed shitty so I'll be able to go back and do it again. There's a place downtown that…yeah, I'm not welcome there anymore. Here." He reached into another pocket and handed Hartley a bottle of coke. "Slow down, kid. You're gonna throw up if you gulp like that."

"I've never been hungry like this before," Hartley admitted. He gazed out the window sadly. "I really can't believe my life turned into this…I didn't get along with my parents, but…two weeks ago they loved me."

"Musta been nice. At least you had it for a little while. My mom left me with my dad, and he told me at least a dozen times that if it wouldn't screw up his welfare he'd have chucked me out after her." Earl actually laughed at the reminiscence.

"That's terrible."

"I thought it was funny." He shrugged.

They pulled into the parking lot shortly thereafter. Earl hopped out of the front seat, opened the back of the truck and started pulling out junk, clearing space for two in back. He offered Hartley a hand and helped him in.

"You want me to sleep in the front seat?" Earl offered, noticing that Hartley still looked mildly terrified.

"That wouldn't really be fair-" Hartley started.

"Good. It's gonna be fucking freezing tonight." Earl climbed in next to him and shut the flap. He rubbed his hands together and breathed on them. "It'll be nice to have the body warmth.

"Body warmth? I'm staying on my side of the mattress," Hartley insisted. Earl smirked.

"Sure, Hart. Whatever you say."

* * *

Less than an hour later Hartley was curled up to Earl's chest, teeth chattering, and quietly whimpering. Earl rubbed his large hands up and down Hartley's back and arms, his laugh a low rumble in Hartley's ears. "Didn't you say you were living out of your car for awhile?"

"I p-put the h-heat on."

"Bet you'd have more money now if you hadn't."

"Sh-sh-shut up-p."

"You're not just cute. Baby, you're fucking adorable."

"Don't c-call me b-baby." Hartley scowled. Earl tilted his chin up and kissed him, a light and warm caress that distracted him ever so briefly from the stinging and the cold.

"I like calling you baby," Earl said with a shit eating grin. "It's better than Hartley, anyway."

"B-because Earl's a g-good name?"

"You calling me a redneck?"

"N-no. B-but I w-won't fight the sug-gestion," Hartley answered with a smirk of his own. His hands were resting against Earl's chest. Earl took them in his, rubbed them a little to get the iciness out, and brought one of Hartley's palms to his lips for a kiss.

"I really like you, Hartley. I'm gonna see what I can do about getting you heat and food and a real bed. You don't deserve this. I know we only just met, but I can tell."

"Th-thanks. I k-kinda like you t-too," Hartley said, surprised at the truth in the statement. "Y-you really j-just helped m-me because you th-thought I w-was cute?"

"That and I wanted to sell your sneakers," Earl said with a guilty smile. "Not gonna lie, I could use the money." He caressed Hartley's face again. "But I think there's more to you than your stuff."

"That's good, I g-guess. Earl…I'm really t-tired and f-for the first time in awhile I f-feel almost safe."

"Then go to sleep, babe. I'll keep you safe," Earl promised. He kissed the top of Hartley's head and pulled him close. And for the first time in over a week Hartley actually managed a somewhat restful sleep.

* * *

Earl woke slowly with skinny arms clamped around his waist. The memory of the little rich kid and the alley came back slowly, but once he remembered Hartley the rest of the way he smiled and pulled him closer with the arm he had slung around him. "Mmm…" he rumbled.

Hartley sat up, pulled away a little, and yawned. "Morning Earl."

"Hey beautiful." He smiled, liking the small flush over Hartley's pale cheeks.

"I'm not…thanks, I guess," he mumbled.

Earl reached out a hand and lazily ran his fingers through the long orange strands. "Well, I think you're beautiful."

"I'm not going to sleep with you."

"Sure you are. I mean maybe not today, we just met. But you think I'm hot."

"I cuddled up against you for warmth."

"Uh huh. And kissing me?"

"I was being polite." Hartley let out another yawn and stretched his arms over his head.

"What about you checking out my ass?"

"I was not…you noticed?"

Earl laughed. "Yeah, you weren't very subtle. So. Since we're going to sleep together anyway, we could start the day that way."

"In a truck in a parking lot?" Hartley quirked an eyebrow. "I mean it's special, but not in the way I'd like. Besides, you promised me donuts."

"Fine, donuts. If I get you near a real bed can I fuck you?"

"Maybe." Hartley was bright red at this point. Earl laughed again.

"I'm kidding. Okay, not really, but you don't hafta look so scared. I already said I wasn't gonna rape you."

"I'm not scared," Hartley said, and his voice was warm enough that he must have meant it. Earl felt a funny fluttering sensation in his stomach when Hartley looked at him like that. "It's just…weird. I've only had two boyfriends, and they didn't really flirt with me much. People don't…well yeah, it's weird."

"You telling me I'm the only guy who ever noticed you're gorgeous?" And somehow the intensity of the redness increased. This was just too much fun. "I'm probably just the first guy who talked about it."

"Aaron said I make people feel uncomfortable. He said I was stuck up and elitist."

Earl shrugged. "Was last night a humbling experience?"

"I suppose." Hartley winced and touched his lip. "I don't really know how to flirt, Earl, so I'll just be blunt. I like you too. And thank you for helping me. And not killing or raping me."

"Well you're welcome." Earl grinned. He reached behind Hartley for a small bag with his deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, and a water bottle. "It's almost time for donuts. We'd better get moving."

"Alright." Hartley climbed out of the back of the truck, found his bag on the front seat and dug around for his own hygiene products. When Earl finished brushing his teeth he found Hartley brushing his hair out. He stood back and watched, liking the view. Hartley noticed him and straightened up, a self-conscious smile on his face. "Ready?"

"Whenever you are." Earl held up the car keys.

Hartley climbed into the truck and shut the door. Earl's stomach gave another funny little lurch. 'Okay Povich, there's a gorgeous kid counting on you to get us food, money, and a future. No more fucking around. You gotta try not to screw this up.'

 


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hartley and Earl plan their future

**Chapter Five**

Hartley insisted on spending the money they got selling his things on a motel room, even though Earl told him they'd be better off sleeping in the truck and spending the money on food. He gave in though, on the off chance the 'maybe' Hartley had given him that morning turned into a 'yes' when they were actually in the presence of a bed.

It didn't. Hartley excitedly pointed out the two separate beds and immediately claimed one for himself. Grumbling, Earl settled into the other one, not really noticing the damn difference. The motel bed smelled like cigarettes and cheap fabric softener, which wasn't much better than the moldy smell in the mattress in his truck. And it was just as old and sunken.

The next morning he took off to get them breakfast while Hartley was cleaning his clothes in the bathroom sink. When he got back the room was empty and Hartley's bag was gone.

"Son of a bitch. Earl, you're a God damn stupid son of a bitch!" He punched a hole in the wall, and not quite satisfied with the cracked plaster, punched out a window as well. The blood on his knuckles felt a little better, even if it was his own.

He should have expected this. Of course the kid was planning on leaving at the first possible chance. He'd gotten what he'd needed, hadn't he? Temporary shelter, a little money, and a crash course in street smarts. A cultured guy like that wouldn't need a thug like Earl for long.

Earl sat down on the bed and buried his head in his hands, tugging at his hair. He was gonna go back to the shelter and start a fight, maybe go after those hustlers who'd beaten Hartley up to begin with. And he damn well wouldn't get mixed up with any naive little rich kids this time.

He almost didn't notice the fumbling noises at the door before the key card finally popped the lock. Hartley walked in with a self-conscious smile on his face, which quickly turned into a look of horror when he saw the glass on the floor and the blood on Earl's hand. "What happened?" He jogged over to the bed and took Earl's hand in his, looking at the cuts along his knuckles.

"I punched a window, what's it look like? Where the hell were you?"

Hartley flinched, but didn't pull away. "Come on, you need to clean this off and get it covered." He tugged Earl towards the little bathroom in their room and rinsed the cuts with warm water and the ancient bar of hotel soap. Earl winced and tried to pull away, but Hartley's grip on him was firm. "Oh, you can punch through a window but the soap stings too much?"

"Well I'm not pissed anymore and that fucking hurts!"

"Why were you so angry?"

"Because I thought you left. I figured you were using me," Earl accused.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I can see how you came to that conclusion." He patted Earl's hand dry and started applying band –aids he'd fished out of his bag. "No, I was just trying something risky and I didn't want you to be implicated in it if it went poorly."

"Risky?"

"Yeah." Hartley walked back into the main room and started emptying out the contents of his pockets onto the bed. Said contents were bands of bills, mostly hundreds and fifties.

"Holy fuck. Hartley, where did you get all that?"

"My parents. Not that they've noticed yet, but they'll probably figure it out."

"H-how? Christ, I've never seen so much money before!"

"So it's a lot?" Hartley walked over to him, wringing his hands nervously. "I have to confess, I still haven't got a very good grasp on how much is enough to get by on, so I wasn't really sure how much to take."

"This…this is definitely gonna be good for awhile. But, I mean, shit. You said they had you arrested for stealing your car. They're gonna come after us for this, aren't they?"

"I think I covered my tracks pretty well. We should probably be careful though, just in case. I…I understand if you don't want to stay with me. I mean I'm a criminal now. But you should take some of the money anyway." He held out one of the bundles. Earl knocked it out of his hand and pulled him into a kiss.

* * *

They used some of the money to get an apartment in a seedy part of Central. Earl had to remind Hartley several times that if they got a nice place the landlord would be suspicious of them paying in cash. "Shifty people pay large sums in cash. Normal people pay by check."

"Oh. What's the difference?"

"No paper trail with cash. God, you're cute."

"Stop saying that! I know it means stupid."

The apartment left a lot to be desired. The front door had been kicked in and so didn't shut properly, and was missing a bolt. One of the windows was more of a gaping hole with boards over it, and the apartment featured several suspicious stains. Earl used some of the money to procure a deadbolt and some tools so he could go about fixing the place up while Hartley got them furniture and food for the banged up old refrigerator.

While Earl examined the boarded lack-of-window, contemplating how to make it more secure, Hartley wore a similar expression while looking at a bucket full of cleaning supplies. He'd seen maids use cleaning supplies plenty of times in the past, so he was confident he could manage it. And he wanted to contribute something to the apartment, since Earl was doing so much to fix it up.

Earl snuck up behind him and snaked his arms around Hartley's waist. "It's Windex, Hart. You point and spray."

"But…it's a chemical. I was just worried that…don't those burn?" he asked, flustered. Earl laughed. "Guess not then."

"If you're that nervous about it you can wear the rubber gloves."

By the end of the first night they had a poorly furnished, relatively clean apartment (surprisingly, quite a lot of the fixtures had initially been white) and a giant pile of money. They sat on the carpet in the living room with the pile between them, wondering what to do next.

"We should probably start getting some of this into a bank account or something, just so we're not always using cash," Hartley said. "I mean, you said having lots of hundreds on you is suspicious, right?"

"And a skinny guy like you with a stack of hundreds on him all the time is just asking to be mugged," Earl agreed. "But I dunno about setting up a bank account. I mean, won't that attract the cops? You depositing a big fat stack of cash right after your parents got ripped off? Even if it's not the same amount?"

"I guess it's a good thing I used to hang out with gray hats and know how to forge records."

"Oh." Earl decided to pretend he understood that, since Hartley seemed to know what he was talking about. "So do you have any thoughts on what we should do from here? I mean, this is gonna last us for awhile, but we can't steal from your folks again the next time we need money…um, I'm not assuming too much right? You're cool with us being a 'we'?"

"Of course," Hartley answered, surprised. "Come on, I couldn't use Windex without your help. We compliment each other's strengths and weaknesses pretty well, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

"Great." Hartley smiled brightly. "I was thinking, actually, that I might be able to make a living selling instruments."

"Huh?" Earl hadn't really expected that. Considering the way things were going, he'd expected some kind of brilliant and complicated thievery, possibly involving computers. "So you wanna get back on the straight and narrow at some point, huh?"

"If I can manage. I damn well don't want to live on the streets again, and I only stole from my parents because it didn't really hurt anyone. They owe me anyway." He chewed his lip, nervous. "But I know a lot about music, and it would really show up my dad. He always said I was wasting my time with it, since I don't have any talent. But even if I can't perform…you know, it's something."

"Okay. So we'll get some stuff tomorrow and get you started making instruments." Earl stretched out his arms, yawning. "I think I'm gonna see if I can get work as a bouncer. I got this temper problem, so-"

"Yeah, I noticed that already. Getting paid for it wouldn't exacerbate the problem though?" Hartley asked. Earl blinked. "Um…make it worse?"

"Oh. Naw, if I just get my energy out somewhere else I'm okay. So, uh, since we only got one bed today I'll just crash on the couch so you can take it," Earl offered.

Hartley scooped the money up into a bag and shoved it under the couch. He tossed Earl a box of condoms and walked towards the bedroom. "You're cute. We only got one bed today for a reason."

Earl smiled and followed after Hartley.


End file.
